


a little party never killed nobody (right now's all we got)

by talking_tina



Category: Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 14:03:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talking_tina/pseuds/talking_tina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III, heir to the (waning) fortune of the Wentz aristocracy, best friend to every degenerate in town, rumrunner extraordinaire, didn't need subtelty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a little party never killed nobody (right now's all we got)

**Author's Note:**

> So, essentially, Pete runs a speakeasy during the Prohibition Era, Patrick is new to the business, and Gabe intimidates people.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction using fictional characters based in the likenesses of real people. Never happened, and I do not own these names.

With a name like Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III, you'd think the guy would've learned some subtlety.

You would be damn wrong.

Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III, heir to the (waning) fortune of the Wentz aristocracy, best friend to every degenerate in town, rumrunner extraordinaire, didn't need subtlety. After all, throwing favors and money at people tended to make problems go away without having to cut the parties.

Unfortunately, it didn't magically cut the need for staff. Which was why Pete resorted to having Patrick organize a shipment that day. Tiny Patrick. Babyface Patrick. Patrick who didn't like guns, or punching, or blood.

It was not one of his better ideas. But Hell, the kid had smiled his way out of jail cells on two separate occasions. He'd probably be fine. The fact that Pete got him into those jail cells? Entirely irrelevant. He hoped.

The only thing that stopped Pete from fussing himself to his grave was the party. It was Friday night, late enough that no one had anything better to do but drink. All the local floozies and boozehounds wandered into the Wentz' extravagant basement eventually, but on Friday night, they came in packs.

Pete worried over by the bar. He'd already warmed up the patrons, greeted old friends, flirted a bit--soon he'd have to go in for another round, maybe buy a couple drinks, get the liquor flowing. Keep them happy. It was half the reason Pete did these parties, after all.

His heart wasn't in it, though. He knew it showed. His head wouldn't be right until Patrick showed up safe and sound, and if Wentz' head wasn't right, his party wouldn't be right. The whole place would grind to a halt.

"Don't worry," Joe said. "Patrick's fine."

Pete lit up. "You saw him?" he asked.  
Joe poured him a glass of something that smelled like lighter fluid. "No," he admitted. "But who could lay a hand on that kid?"

"I know," he sighed, taking the drink. "Patrick's probably fine. It's just-- the competition's mad, y'know? Never been so bad before."

"Since the Treasury sent that new guy," Joe sniffed. "Everyone's jumpy."

"He's too damn good at his job."

He nodded sagely. "We should get him on our payroll."

Pete downed the drink in one go and only shuddered a little. "No need. He's already friends with just about everyone here. Real likable guy, apparently. Doesn't suspect a thing."

"He can't be that good at his job, then."

"Amen to that, friend," he admitted, examining the glass like Patrick's location was etched in the bottom. "What's the guy's name, again?"

"Toro. Somethin' Toro. Friends with Way, I think."

"Which Way?" Pete asked.

Joe waved a hand. "Both of 'em, I think. You know how they are."

Pete laughed. "Yeah, they know everyone, don't they? How do they do that?"

"You're one to talk."

He whirled and gasped. Standing before Pete was his Patrick! His much-beloved Patrick! His slightly rumpled but entirely safe Patrick!

"There you are!" Pete grabbed Patrick into a crushing hug. "Oh, my God, I was so worriedHe turned to Joe. "Give the patrons a celebratory round, on me! Well, okay, half off--"

Patrick grabbed Pete's shoulder. "Eh. Right now isn't a very good time."

"Why not, munchkin?" Pete asked, a new drink clutched in his hand. "You're not at the bottom of any bodies of water. That's a miracle in itself."

"It's so good to know you have faith in me, boss, but...I kinda towed home an interesting character."

Joe bristled. "Cops?" A few patrons at the end of the bar looked up.

Patrick shushed him. "No, don't spook the customers. It's not cops. It's Saporta. He caught me on my way in."

"Saporta?" Pete scowled. "He hasn't come around in months. I thought he was busy with a lady."

"I heard she ditched him a while back," Joe supplied, crossing his arms and leaning on the bar. "Maybe he got bored."

Pete nodded slowly. "Okay. Joe, hold down the fort for me. Patrick, you stay and be cute for the patrons. Buy some drinks for the girls."

His eyes went wide. "My wife'd kill me."

"You really are new to this job." Pete drained his drink, took a deep breath, and headed for the stairs up from the basement.

A lanky figure in a very expensive suit waited in his foyer.

"Ah, Gabriel Saporta!" Pete cooed. "What brings you hereabouts?"

Gabriel grinned and crushed Pete into a hug. "Pete, it hasn't been that long. I'm still Gabe around here, aren't I?"  
Pete scrunched up his face in mock pensiveness. "Well, it has, what, three months? That's good money, Gabe."

"I was busy with a lady friend. You know." He scratched his head. "I ended it a few days ago. It's good to be back home."

"You ended it? I heard the lady called a righteous fury down on your a--"

"Okay, maybe she ended it. My point is, I'm restless, and I wanted to come see some old friends."

Pete raised a single, perfectly skeptical eyebrow. "You wanted to come spook some favors out of some old friends."

"Would I be Gabe Saporta if I didn't indulge a little?" Gabe smiled, and it was so charming Pete had to remind himself how much this guy'd cost him as a regular.

Gabe continued. "So I was hoping you could introduce me to some of your attractive patrons tonight-- maybe even buy us a round."

The disgruntled rumrunner crossed his arms. "And why," he began, "would I help someone who left us for some gal?"

"Oh, maybe because that Treasury goon in town is one of my people. A brother, you could say."

"...Gabe, he's Puerto Rican."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm sure Puerto Ricans speak the same kind of Spanish I do. You know, the one where 'alcohólica' means 'jail time'--"

"I get it." Pete sighed. "Fine, I'll do you some favors. But you owe me, okay?"

With that, they descended the stairs to the basement. The bouncer eyed Gabe suspiciously.

"Pete, are you really letting him in, or does he have you at gunpoint?"

Pete nodded. "I can't believe it either, but this freeloader's with me tonight, Andy."

Andy nodded back, squinting suspiciously at Gabe as he passed. He may've been the only pacifist in the whole city, but he was huge, and he could spot a pistol bulge in a dim room.

Also, as a teetotaler, he was often the only sober person in the speakeasy. That was a load off Pete's shoulders, since Pete enjoyed his product as much as the patrons.

As soon as they were in, Gabe latched onto a local kid Andy almost didn't admit in the first place. Will something. Pete sent them the strongest drinks he had in the hopes they'd go away sooner. And, as an afterthought, he sent some to his favorite patrons, too, because why the Hell not? It was Friday night, after all.

Patrick was socializing at the bar. Joe idly wiped a glass on his shirt and, realizing Pete saw him, went to dig up a clean washrag. Pete knew Andy was at his post, planning ways to woo his new girlfriend. All over, some of Pete's buddies and a few new faces laughed and drank in safety-- everyone from that Urie kid in the house band (who could be blind drunk and still sing in key) to the Way brothers telling tall tales of growing up together to Gabe cozying up to Will and Will actually, maybe, having a good time of it.

Pete hummed to himself as he waltzed up to his bar. It's good to be a rumrunner, he decided as he snapped one of Patrick's suspenders from behind. Booze really brings a community together.


End file.
